Screams
by Jennifer Hart
Summary: FLETC taught them to respond to crimes as investigators. Now they must learn to respond as victims.
1. Prologue

**Title: Screams  
Genre: Tragedy/FriendshipRating: PG-13-R  
Warnings: Strong violence and intense depiction of pain, shootings, and emotional content. Death of Recurring Character and canon guest star. Also, I make no promises as to who will or will not die.  
Spoiler: Minor allusions made to Bete Noire, Hiatus, Under Covers, Twilight, Grace Period, Dead Man Talking, Twisted Sister, Kill Ari II, Shalom, Switch, and Lt. Jane Doe. Also JAG's Ice Queen.**

**Summary: FLETC taught them to respond to crimes as investigators. Now they must learn to respond as victims.**

Prologue

_Screams._

_All he could hear was the screams. Lying there, his chest hot and numb, as screams and gunfire echoed around him._

_He had to help, but he couldn't move._

_More shots. More screams. _

_Finally he managed to twist his body through a slow, agonizing series of movements so that he was face down and began to slowly inch towards the drawer. He could make it. He knew he could. He had to._

_Another shot. Another scream._

_Almost there. His hand reached up._

_And then it was his scream as a bullet ripped through his back. His hand fell._

_The gunshots continued. So did the screams. Then one more shot._

_And the screaming stopped._


	2. Chapter 1: Terror

Chapter 1: Terror

The sound of sirens ripped through the air, jolting Tony from his thoughts. He spun around in his seat to see what was going on, and then swore under his breath. Four ambulances were ripping at top speed towards him.

He glanced around and promptly swore again. The street was bumper to bumper with early morning commuters on their way to work, which meant very little room for maneuvering into another lane.

"Come on, someone run the red light!" It was stupid, but it was procedure. If an ambulance was coming and you were stopped at a red light with no other maneuvering room, you were basically supposed to head out into the intersection or the ambulance would do that for you by pushing your bumper. He'd seen it happen before in Philly and had no desire to be on the receiving end.

Thankfully, some of the other vehicles ahead of him seemed to be aware of it as well, because they started pulling out. Tony hit the gas as soon as he could, already feeling the shove of the first ambulance's front bumper. "All right, all right, give me a break." He followed the other vehicles across and pulled over, watching as the four ambulances went screaming past. No, five. No, make that six. Two more had pulled out while he was fighting with traffic. Tony hesitated, wondering whether or not to follow. He was already running late and he knew Gibbs would have his hide for it, but if there were that many injured it might not hurt. Tony nodded grimly and decided to take his chances, before pulling into gear and pressing grimly on the gas.

Three corners later he realized he didn't have to make the choice. The ambulances were pulling into the Navy Yard. Feeling sick, Tony pulled up to the checkpoint behind them.

"What's going on, Lieutenant?"

The young woman handed him back his I.D., her face pale. "Shooting at the NCIS bulding."

Tony stared at her. "How bad?"

0

Ziva pulled her knees up closer to her chest and struggled to hold back a moan. One hand raked at the carpet, while the other pressed against the blood-soaked holes in her stomach.

The shooting appeared to have stopped--at least, she wasn't hearing shots anymore. All she could hear were groans and labored breathing from the other victims around her.

Other victims. Her training dictated that she should be caring for them first. Mossad Officers were taught to ignore their own pain. She pushed one hand against the carpet, gritting her teeth, and attempted to lift her torso up.

"Aaah!" White hot pain ripped through her stomach at the movement and her limbs gave out. Mossad Officers were _not_ taught to fight through agony like this. A low whimper sounded in her throat.

She tried to curl up closer, desperate for relief. A movement at the window caught her eye and she looked over. Two bees appeared to be quarreling over a blossom on the tree outside the window. If she'd had enough strength she would have smiled.

She kept her eyes riveted on the window as tears trickled down her cheeks. Help would come soon. It had to.


	3. Chapter 2: Troubled

Chapter 2: Troubled

Tony screeched to a halt in his assigned parking slot before jumping out and bolting for main entrance. The ambulances were all grouped at the sidewalk in front of the building, although they didn't appear to have brought anyone out yet. A crowd of people had gathered on the boulevard across the street, since security appeared to be blocking anyone from going any closer. Tony made a run for it anyway, only to have his arm grabbed.

"Sorry, Tony, you can't go in there."

"I work here, Henry!" Tony snapped.

"I know, Tony, but that's my orders. Nobody else enters the building."

Tony looked around helplessly before turning back to the security guard. "Can you at least tell me what happened?"

Henry sighed. "All we know is that a man opened fire in the third floor squadroom on the east side. There's at least two people dead."

"Two dead..." Tony's voice trailed off and he grabbed the other man by the shoulders. "Henry—that's my office! My team is up there. Come on, please!"

"TONY!"

The hysterical scream made him turn around in time to see Abby running towards him, Palmer slowly following behind. He quickly let go of the guard in time to pull the lab tech into a hug. Tears were streaming down her cheeks, wiping away her makeup, and she was shaking uncontrollably. Tony tightened his hold and looked over at Palmer. "Tell me what happened."

"The fire alarm went off around 7:13 and they started ordering everyone out of the building." The young assistant sounded dazed. "They made us come out here and told us to stay put. Nobody leaves."

"Ducky!" Abby was sobbing so hard Tony could barely understand her. "Ducky was upstairs."

"He went up to talk to the Director a half hour before the alarm went off," Palmer confirmed. "We haven't been able to find either of them."

"Gibbs?" Tony's voice was tight. "Ziva? McGee? What about them?"

"Nothing," the other man answered. "From what I can tell, nobody from that floor has come outside."

Tony looked back at Henry. "Are they taking the wounded to George Washington?" When the security officer nodded Tony pulled Abby around to his side. "Come on, I'll drive you."

"Agent DiNozzo – nobody is to leave the premises..."

Tony simply looked at him. "Just try and stop me."

XXXXX

"Sir? Sir, can you hear me?

Ducky forced his eyes open. A young blond-haired woman was leaning over him, smiling encouragingly. "That's it. Can you tell me your name?"

"Donald Mallard." He blinked, slowly taking in his surroundings. He was slumped in a semisitting position with his back against something hard. There was a dull burning a little ways below his right shoulder and he could make out the Director's conference table behind the paramedic's shoulder. He struggled to sit up.

"Easy. Take it easy. Don't try and move." The paramedic put out a hand to stop him from moving and he quickly shook his head.

"There are multiple shooting victims on this level and the one below. There's a woman with a grazing head wound down the hall and another with no pulse..."

"It's okay." The woman squeezed his hand. "We're taking care of them. Just relax." Ducky slowly sat back, wincing in pain. "Now my name's Katherine and I'm a paramedic. Are you hurt anywhere else besides your shoulder?" She ran her hands quickly over the rest of his body as she spoke.

Ducky shook his head. "I don't think so," he gasped.

"Good. Now I'm going to attach the mask and give you some oxygen and then ease you onto your back so you can be a little more comfortable. Okay?" He nodded tiredly and she slipped the mask onto his face. "There you go. Now just take some deep breaths for me. James?"

Ducky felt hands on his other side, guiding him back. The movement sent another bolt of pain through his shoulder and he groaned.

"Easy. Easy, just keep taking deep breaths for me. There you go." Katherine's voice was soothing and Ducky let his eyes drift closed. "Mr. Mallard? Mr. Mallard, stay with me..."


	4. Chapter 3: Trauma

Chapter 3: Trauma

Tony pulled his car up to the curb outside the emergency room at the George Washington Medical Facility with a screech. "You two go on in. I'm going to see if I can see anything when they bring in the ambulances."

Palmer got out immediately, but Abby turned back. "Tony..."

"That's an order, Abbs!" Tony snapped, then winced. "I promise, I'll tell you anything I see."

Palmer put a hand on her shoulder. "Come on, Abby," he said, gently. Abby nodded mutely and climbed out of the car. Palmer put his arm around her, then turned back and looked at Tony. A quiet and compliant Abby was not a good thing. Tony just sighed and pulled the door shut, before heading for the parking area.

An ambulance was just pulling up as he found a stall. Tony jerked to a park and pulled the keys out before running towards the bay. The first stretcher was already on its way in, so he couldn't see a face, but he managed to catch the second one and nearly threw up. Jenny Shepard, white-faced and unconscious on a gurney with an oxygen mask pressed to her face and blood pooling from the side of her head.

Within seconds another ambulance was pulling up and unloading two more victims. The first was Special Agent Christy Heinz, a dark-haired agent in her thirties lying under a blood-soaked sheet. Unlike Jenny Shepard, Christy was conscious and Tony caught sight of her pain-wrought expression as she passed. He swallowed hard and braced himself for the next gurney.

"What the...Oh, please, no." Amy Deckerman. A probie, fresh out of FLETC, she'd been assigned to the second floor squadroom on the west side. She wasn't even supposed to be in their team's squadroom, let alone being brought into the hospital unconscious on a gurney.

"What've we got?"

"Male, early thirties, multiple gunshots to the chest and back."

Tony looked over, startled, as EMTs rushed past with yet another stretcher. This victim was also conscious, their eyes closed and their features contorted with pain. Another probie. Tim.

Tony promptly threw up.

0

Tim McGee's world was a swirling haze of pure agony.

The gunshots he thought had stopped had started again and every single one of them was striking him. Every movement, breath, or second was simply one more bullet tearing its way through his body. He writhed against the sheets of the gurney, silently begging for the pain to stop, for it to be over.

He pried his eyes open long enough to see faces leaning over him. Desperately he tried to catch someone's eye. "Stop," he managed to get out. "Please...make...it stop."

A man tried to say something back, but he couldn't understand a word. It hurt too much. Frustrated, McGee shook his head restlessly against the pillow. "Please..."

"Kate!" A woman's voice finally cut through the haze. "Over here!" Someone leaned over his face. "Just relax, Tim, we've got you."

_Kate_. McGee forced himself to look at the face looking into his eyes and then drew back in horror. Blonde hair, blue eyes, kind smile, and light shining behind her...

"Paula..." He tried to pull back farther. "Nnnooo!"

"Chris, help me out here!" Pacci. They were all here. He shook his head again as the light seemed to come closer.

"Nooo...please!"


	5. Chapter 4: Tension

Chapter 4: Tension

"Sir, are you okay?"

His face was whiter than the walls because he'd just seen a girl barely two weeks on the job wheeled in with multiple gunshots. He'd just thrown up because he'd seen one of his best friends semiconscious and covered in blood. And he couldn't stop shaking, because he had not seen three other people very dear to him wheeled into the hospital and what that meant he didn't even want to think about.

"Yeah," he muttered. "I'm fine."

He didn't think he convinced the nurse, but he managed to make it into the waiting room without holding onto a wall, where he gratefully collapsed into a chair next to Abby. Both she and Palmer looked over at him.

"I saw McGee and the Director." Tony's voice was barely audible. "Plus Christy, Amy from the Cold Case team, and two gurneys where I couldn't catch the faces. Couldn't tell how bad any of them were hurt."

"Well, those two stretchers could've been Gibbs and Ducky," Abby whispered. "But then what about Ziva? Plus Ron works on that floor and Jack...and we know at least two people didn't make it..."

"I don't know, Abbs." Tony hugged her close as tears welled up in his eyes. He swallowed and just hugged her tighter as his tears trickled down into her hair. "I don't know."

"I tried asking at the desk." Palmer sighed. "But they said they had to wait until the families had been contacted."

"Let me give it a shot." Tony gently eased Abby back into Palmer's embrace. "The words 'Special Agent' sometimes counts."

He slowly walked over to the desk and waited for the nurse to look up at him. "Can I help you?"

"Yes." His voice was hoarse as he flipped out his NCIS ID folder. "I'm NCIS Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo. I need some information on the victims who were brought in from the shooting down at the Navy Yard."

"I'm sorry, Agent DiNozzo, but we need to contact their families first."

Tony leaned over, resting his elbows on the counter. "Let me give you some information about some of those families. Dr. Donald Mallard's only living family is his mother. She has dementia, so his official emergency contact is NCIS Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs. Agent Gibbs works on the same floor as the shooting occurred, so he is probably in one of your trauma rooms as well. He has no family in Washington, and his official emergency contact is Dr. Mallard."

The agent took a deep breath. "Officer Ziva David is a liaison from Israel with no family in the United States. Her emergency contacts are listed as her supervisor — Leroy Jethro Gibbs — and the Director of NCIS, Jennifer Shepard, who I know was brought in on a gurney ten minutes ago. And then there's Agent Timothy McGee. He does have family and his sister..." Tony's voice trailed off and he closed his eyes.

"Agent DiNozzo?"

Tony slowly opened his eyes and looked at her. "His sister is a student at Waverly University. I need to talk to her before she hears about this on the news or something." He struggled to pull his voice back into business mode. "Now Agent Gibbs is also my boss, so right now I'm the closest thing to a relative you have for him, Officer David, and Dr. Mallard." He gestured behind him to Palmer and Abby. "That's James Palmer and Abigail Sciuto. They work with me at NCIS and are also very close to the people I just mentioned. If you hear any information before I get back, they are authorized to hear it. Okay?" The young woman slowly nodded. "Good. Now I'll go and get Agent McGee's sister."

He walked back over to the others and knelt down in front of Abby. "Okay, we've been cleared to hear any information on Gibbs, Ducky, and Ziva. I don't know anything about the Director's family, so I can't get clearance on her. Now I've got to go get McGee's sister."

"No..." Abby's fingers tightened around his hand and he squeezed it.

"Abby, you know Tim wouldn't want a stranger to be the one to get his sister, not if one of us were available." Tony's voice was soft and gentle. "I promise, I'll come right back." Slowly he pulled away.

0

_Ziva. Where was Ziva?_

Gibbs turned his head restlessly on the gurney, trying to ignore the searing pain ripping through his knee. The pain, along with the blaring siren and the paramedic's incessant questioning made it difficult to focus.

"We're going to be there soon, Agent Gibbs," the paramedic told him. "How's your knee feeling?"

Gibbs fixed his eyes on the young man's name tag. "Neal, I was shot—it's not exactly comfortable."

Neal's face broke into a grin. "What about your chest?"

Gibbs had forgotten about that one. The second bullet had gone through the side of his chest, an inch-and-a-half short of being just a graze. He shook his head dismissively. "It's fine."

His eyes drifted up to the ceiling as he again replayed the events of the last hour. He and Ziva coming off the elevator laughing; he wasn't sure about what. Seeing the gunman's weapon pointed at Ziva and desperately trying to push her out of the way. Feeling the familiar, indescribable pain of a bullet tearing into his knee. Watching helplessly the gunman fired again and seeing Ziva crumple to the floor. Even at that the shooter hadn't been satisfied, but had had to stand over them and shoot them both a second time.

The ambulance hit a bump just then, jarring Gibbs' knee, and he let out a moan. The movement was almost as bad as the original shot. Neal leaned forward.

"Just hold on, we're almost there." He leaned forward to check the dressing and frowned. "You've started bleeding again." He reached for another dressing. "This is going to hurt."

"Been there before," Gibbs gasped, then braced himself. The EMT pressed down the gauze and Gibbs couldn't quite keep back the cry of pain. Instinctively he closed his eyes.

"Hey, hey, stay with me now," Neal ordered. Gibbs forced his eyes open and nodded, gritting his teeth. He tried to focus again on what he remembered of Ziva at the scene, but his mind kept blanking after the paramedics had swarmed in. He couldn't even remember if her gurney had been taken out first, or if she'd still been there as they wheeled him to the elevator. Or if he'd heard them say whether she was alive.

He drew a ragged breath. She had to be alive. Didn't she?

"You've been here before?" Neal's voice was calling him back and Gibbs looked over. The paramedic nodded at Gibbs' knee. "You said you've done this before.

"The other knee. An explosion in Kuwait."

"Ah." Neal smiled wryly. Then you know what you're in for."

"Oh, yeah." Did he ever. The long months of rehab, weights, crutches, P-Bars, and knee braces. All with the knowledge that no matter how hard he worked, there was a chance his knee would never allow him to meet the fitness requirements of being an NCIS Special Agent.

_Where was Ziva?_

0

Tony guided Sarah through the doors of the E.R. and stopped short. "Oh, thank God." A wheelchair had been parked next to Abby and Palmer's chair, bearing a figure in green scrubs. It was Ducky.

The M.E.'s face was pale, and one arm was bound in front of him in a sling, but he seemed otherwise uninjured. If it hadn't been for Sarah, Tony would have rushed up to hug the man right then. Instead he managed to walk at a somewhat normal pace towards the group.

Abby caught sight of them as they approached and hurried towards them, pulling Sarah into one of her effervescent hugs before ushering her towards the nurses' desk. Satisfied that she was being taken care of, Tony moved forward and leaned over to gently embrace his friend. "Duck."

"Oh, Tony." The older man's voice was soft as he returned the hug as best he could.

"Still no word on any of the others," Palmer reported quietly. Tony nodded and pulled back, studying Ducky's sling and the gauze he could see under the collar of the scrubs top.

"Just a through-and-through below the shoulder," Ducky said, managing a smile. "I've patched more than a few of these up in my day."

Tony slowly sat back, although the worry never left his expression.

"What about the others?"

Ducky's face sobered. "The Director's head was grazed, but she'll make it. But Cynthia was killed."

Abby's head jerked up. "The Director's Assistant?"

Ducky nodded. "She was shot twice in the back. Probably was killed instantly." Is voice was quiet. "Jeff Dobbs was killed as well." I saw his body as I was being wheeled out. I don't know about anyone else."

"McGee, Christy Heinz, and Amy Deckerman were brought in with at least two others." Tony's voice was distant. "Dobbs worked the Singer murder with us four years ago. He'd just gotten his own team in Norfolk. Wasn't even supposed to be in the building." He sighed. "And I was."


	6. Chapter 5: Tired

**Thanks for all the reviews, guys.  I'm glad you're enjoying it.**

Chapter 5: Tired

What time is it?" Sarah whispered.

Tony strained to see the clock. "Almost noon."

"That's it?" Sarah shook her head. "I thought we'd been here longer."

"So did I," Abby answered.

"We should start hearing something soon," Ducky told them. "Surgeries for gunshot wounds are generally around three or four hours. I remember doing a rotation in an army surgery unit as an intern. I had a classmate who used to time them down to the second. Kept all the times written down in a notebook."

Sarah stared at him. "Why?"

Ducky chuckled and leaned over to pat her on the knee. "I'm afraid she was a touch obsessive compulsive. I believe she went on to do research on the effects antiviral medication had on mice."

A door opened at the end of the hall and a doctor came out, the front of his scrubs stained in blood. Sarah quickly scrambled to her feet.

"I'm looking for the family of Daniel Baker?" A woman sitting next to Abby hurried forward as Sarah slowly sat down again. A second later she jumped back up.

"I can't stay sitting," she said quickly. "I'm going to go nuts."

Abby stood up as well. "Come on, I'll go with you. We can do a coffee run."

"Tea for me please," Ducky requested. Abby managed a smile at him before following Sarah towards the door.

"NO!" The anguished scream made both women whip around. The relative of Daniel Baker's was sobbing in the doctor's arms. Sarah's stricken brown eyes locked on Abby, then frantically searched for Tony and Ducky.

Two other agents came up to guide the distraught woman to a chair. Sarah simply stared at them, unable to move.

"Excuse me?" A nurse entered from behind the doctor. "I'm looking for an Agent Tony DiNozzo?"

Tony quickly hurried forward. "That's me."

The woman smiled at him. "Director Shepherd's awake."

0

Tony's first reaction when he saw the Director was that she looked better than he'd expected. He'd been bracing himself for something like Gibbs during his coma — or worse — but she didn't look that different from what he himself had after Petty Officer Swain had hit him in the bunker. She even managed a smile when she saw him.

"I always wondered what it would be like to wake up to you first thing in the morning," she quipped softly. Tony grinned.

"And they say dreams don't come true," he joked back, before sitting down on the edge of the bed. "How are you feeling, Jenny?"

He couldn't bring himself to use her formal title — not after everything else that had happened — and appreciation and relief showed in her eyes.  
It's not my first concussion," she said dismissively. "How are the others?"

"Abby and Palmer are fine and are out in the waiting room with McGee's sister. Ducky's got a through-and-through in his shoulder, but it's not stopping him from staying out there with us," Tony said carefully. "We're still waiting for word on the others."

Jenny simply looked at him. "Tony, I saw Cynthia. You don't need to shield me."

Tony took a deep breath. "Dan Baker and Jeff Dobbs were killed as well." He told her the rest of what they knew. "Any idea who the shooter was?"

"Steve Martak, an FBI agent." Jenny's face hardened. "He was supposed to be helping Dobbs on an interrogation.

"FBI? What the frig happened?" Jenny just shook her head.

"I don't know, but we are freaking well going to find out."

0

A collection of colorful epithets greeted Tony as he reentered the waiting room. He raised his eyebrows as he approached the others. "What'd I miss?"

"News just came over ZNN," Ducky answered quietly. "Apparently the shooter is expected to survive."

"That's why doctors should be allowed to drink while on duty," one agent muttered. Abby jumped to her feet.

"It's about time one of those mass shooters had to live and be held accountable for what they did," she yelled, tears streaming down her cheeks. "Maybe the next time one of those bastards gets the urge to blow his brains out he'll just do it instead of taking everyone else with him!"

"Abby," Tony said softly, touching her shoulder. She collapsed against him, sobbing, and he hugged her tight. "It's okay," he whispered, his own tears trickling into her hair. "It's okay."

"Special Agent DiNozzo?" Both Abby and Tony brought their heads up at the sound of the voice. "Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo?"

Tony pressed Abby into Palmer's arms and took a step forward, his legs shaking. "I'm Agent DiNozzo."

The doctor's eyes were kind. "Please come with me."


	7. Chapter 6: Taken

Chapter 6: Taken

By nightfall, eight NCIS agents were lying motionless and intubated in the Intensive Care Unit. Most were suffering from multiple gunshot wounds. Among the lucky exceptions was Jack Balboa, whose desk was right behind McGee's. He'd only been shot once, in the right side of the chest, and although his injury was serious the doctors were guardedly optimistic.

The Probie, Amy Deckerman, was also considered to be doing well under the circumstances. Shot once in the left knee and once in the upper abdomen, the young agent was putting up a good fight.

Gibbs and Ziva rested side by side in a double room. Two bullets had been removed from the wall of Ziva's stomach and she was expected to pull through. So was Gibbs, but his chest wound was the least of the doctors' concerns. Although the second bullet had only succeeded in taking out a small chunk on the left side of his ribcage, the first had damaged ligaments around his knee as well as the kneecap itself. The orthopedic surgeon had taken most of the afternoon to repair and stabilize the joint, making Gibbs one of the last to be wheeled into ICU.

Three of the four Intel analysts from the row of cubicles on the east side of the squadroom had also been injured. Ron Frederickson had been struck in the thigh on his way down the stars from MTAC, and Robin Johnson had been hit in the back and shoulder while standing at the photocopier. The most severely injured had been Christy Heinz. The African Intel analyst had been shot several times in the torso and was one of two victims whose condition was considered to be unstable and extremely critical. The other was Tim McGee.

Tim had taken two bullets to the chest, as well as one in his back. The chest wounds had gone completely through and exited his back, leaving him with a flailed chest and punctured lung. However the third bullet had lodged itself between his heart and his spine. The doctors had been able to remove it, but were unsure of whether there would be permanent damage, or whether he would even recover at all. He'd been hooked up to a chest tube and a nurse remained at a small table inside his room at all times.

Jenny Shepherd was also in the ICU for the night, although she was considered to be out of the woods. So was Ducky, who Tony and Abby had finally persuaded to accept a hospital room. Palmer was staying with him, while Tony and Abby took turns between Ziva and Gibbs' room and sitting at McGee's bedside with Sarah.

The identities of those killed had also been confirmed. In addition to Jeff Dobbs and Cynthia, Special Agent Allan Fong had also been pronounced dead at the scene. A quiet man known for his warm demeanor that always put witnesses at ease, he'd been killed instantly by a bullet to his head while sitting at his desk.

A task force of agents had been put together to investigate the shooting. They, along with essential units such as the Anti-Terrorism Division, would be working out of the JAG building until NCIS Headquarters could be reopened. A few other agents had been drafted to the Pentagon, where a makeshift MTAC had been set up. Some of the off-duty agents had drifted there as well, anxious to be doing anything that resembled helping. Most, however, were congregated in the waiting rooms and cafeteria at the hospital along with the families, keeping vigil for their own.

0

A murmur of voices began to break through the darkness. One was a younger man's voice, the other older with an accent. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't seem to make out the words.

"Should...out of bed?" Wait. That was something. The voice spoke again, "Parents...last night." He frowned. Whose parents?"

"Ducky!" A woman's voice, so loud he instinctively flinched. Immediately a hand closed around his arm.

"Boss?" It was the younger man again. He shifted his head on the pillow.

The older man's voice spoke, closer. "Jethro, can you hear me?"

With effort he managed to pull his eyelids open. Three relieved smiles greeted him: Tony, Abby, and Ducky. Gibbs tried to return the smiles, but the tube in his mouth stopped him.

"Take it easy, Jethro." Ducky rested a hand on his arm. "There's a tube in your mouth to help you breathe." Gibbs turned his gaze to focus on the older man and spotted the sling on his right arm. Gibbs' eyes jerked wide open and he tried to lift his head off the pillow.

"Agent Gibbs!" A doctor bustled in, followed by two nurses. "Good to see you awake." He quickly checked the monitor. "We'll have that tube out for you in a second; we just need to check a couple of things. Blink if you remember these people around you." Gibbs blinked. "Okay, which one is Tony?" Gibbs' eyes flickered in his direction and the doctor smiled. "Good. Now before we take this out, you were shot in the side of the chest. It didn't hit anything serious, but it broke a couple of ribs and that's going to make coughing that tube out a little painful. All right?" Gibbs blinked again. "Okay."

A little painful was an understatement and by the time they were done, Gibbs' forehead was soaked in sweat. Ducky moved closer and encouragingly gripped his shoulder while Abby slipped her hand into Gibbs'. He gripped it tightly as he lay back with his eyes closed, trying to breathe, each breath sending more pain streaking through the side of his ribs.

He didn't know whether it was something the nurse had put in his I.V. or the fact that his breathing had slowed somewhat, but after several long minutes he was able to relax his grip on Abby's hand and open his eyes again. The doctor smiled at him.

"That better?" Gibbs managed a nod.

"Do you want something to drink?" Abby asked him. He nodded again and she brought a straw to his lips, using her other hand to gently prop his head up. He gulped almost ¾ of the glass before gesturing her to pull the cup away.

"Do you remember what happened?" the doctor asked after Gibbs was lying back again. He nodded.

"Shooting at NCIS Headquarters." He looked over at Ducky. "Are you all right?"

"Just a minor round under the shoulder," Ducky replied. "I've patched you up with far worse."

Gibbs nodded, then scanned the faces around him again. "Where's Ziva?"

"She's over here." Ducky stepped aside so that Gibbs could see her. Her face was tilted towards them and she appeared to be sleeping peacefully other than the ventilation tube in her mouth. "She was shot twice in the stomach, but she should be waking up soon." Gibbs nodded and kept his gaze focused on Ziva's face for several seconds. Finally he looked back up at Ducky. "What about McGee and Jenny?"

Ducky exchanged looks with the others. "Jenny's just got a glancing head wound, Boss," Tony told him. "She's been trying to order the nurses to bring her up here, but so far they aren't going for it."

Gibbs nodded. "And McGee?" Tony swallowed and exchanged glances with the others again. Gibbs attempted to bring his head up off the pillow. "What aren't you telling me?"

"Easy, Jethro." Ducky put his hand on Gibbs' shoulder again. "McGee took two hits to the chest and one to the back. He's currently in a room down the hall and his parents and sister are with him."

Gibbs looked over at the doctor. "Is he going to make it?"

"We're not sure yet, Agent Gibbs," the doctor replied. "But right now we need to concentrate on you. I told you that you received one bullet to the side of the chest?" Gibbs nodded. "As I said, it broke a couple of ribs on the far side. You're going to be in some pain for a little while, but they will heal."

The doctor took a deep breath. "You were also shot in your right knee. The bullet came through the lower side of the front of the kneecap, breaking it and tearing some ligaments. Our orthopedic surgeon had to work on you for several hours yesterday and you may need another surgery later on. And even if you don't, you're going to need a lot of physical therapy before things are back to normal."

"How bad are we talking about, Doc?" Gibbs asked quietly. The doctor just shook his head.

"We won't know that for a while."

A heightened beeping sounded from across the room. The doctor quickly hurried over towards Ziva's bed. He checked the monitor, then leaned over her. A second later he straightened up, smiling. "She's coming around." Abby and Tony breathed sighs of relief and Tony hurried over. Gibbs turned his head to watch, his eyes never leaving Ziva's face.

"Ziva?" Tony said gently. "Ziva, it's Tony." Her eyelids fluttered, but didn't open. "Ziva?"

"Ziva?" Gibbs called. He couldn't quite keep the tears back as her eyes opened this time, slowly taking in the faces around her. A small smile of relief crept over his face.

"Don't try and talk, there's a ventilator tube in your mouth," Tony cautioned. Ziva blinked at him, then scanned the room again, her gaze coming to rest on Gibbs. He smiled encouragingly at her.

"Hey," he said softly. "Welcome back."

Just then an alarm blared from a cubicle across the hall. Tony and Abby spun around as a call came over the loudspeaker. "Code Blue, ICU. Code Blue, ICU."

Tony half stood. "No..."

A team of medical personnel rushed past them as a figure slowly edged out of one of the cubicles, bewildered and whitefaced. _Sarah_.

"Code Blue, ICU. Code Blue..."

Tony bolted from the room. He managed to get about twelve steps before his knees buckled and he collapsed to all fours, his abdomen spasming in a series of dry heaves.

"Easy. Easy." A nurse appeared beside him, thrusting out a basin. "Just let it out."

Gradually the retching stopped and Tony sat back on his heels, trying to catch is breath.

"Are you all right?" the nurse asked gently. Tony shrugged numbly, and the nurse put a hand on his shoulder. "Just take it easy. Don't try and move just yet."

He wasn't sure how long he'd sat there before he became aware that Abby had joined them. He looked up at her, his eyes dull. "Tim?"

She shook her head. "Christy," she whispered. "Christy Heinz. They couldn't bring her back."

Tony slumped against her, his strength gone. "I can't do number six, Abby," he gasped. "I can't do number six."

"What do you mean, number six?"

"Christy...she's number five. Christy, Jeff, Allan, Dan, and Cynthia. I can't do number six. I can't...I can't do number six."


	8. Chapter 7: Truth

Chapter 7: Truth

"Mr. and Mrs. McGee?"

Abby's soft voice caused Sarah to look up along with her parents. The lab tech was standing together with Tony and another agent Sarah didn't recognize. "Do you have a minute?"

A minute. The irony almost made Sarah laugh. If only all they needed was a minute.

It had been three days since the shooting, and Tim still remained on a ventilator. He was the only victim to not be considered out of danger, although the doctors were growing more optimistic. A couple of the other agents had even been moved from the ICU to the other units.

"Sure, Abby. What is it?" Sarah's father asked.

Abby gestured to the other agent with her and Tony. "This is Special Agent Petro. He's one of the agents investigating the case."

"Sir, Ma'am, we've been speaking with some of the other survivors." Agent Petro's voice was gentle. "One of them, Agent Ron Frederickson, asked if it would be possible for me to bring the three of you to come see him. He wants to tell you something important about your son, something you would want to know."

"I'll stay with Tim while you're gone," Tony said softly. The McGees exchanged glances and Mr. McGee nodded his assent.

"This way," Agent Petro said quietly. He and Abby led them out of the ICU and towards a unit down the hall.

"Ron was wounded in the thigh during the attack," he explained. "He was transferred out of ICU and onto a regular unit last night."

He ushered them to a door and knocked lightly. "Ron? It's Connor Petro." He pushed the door open. One of the beds was empty. A dark-haired man about Tim's age was semi sitting in the other, one leg bandaged and propped up on a pillow. Agent Petro approached him. "How are you doing?"

Ron shrugged. "From the waist up, not bad."

The other agent smiled. "This is Mr. and Mrs. McGee, and their daughter, Sarah."

Ron's face was pale but he managed a smile. "Thank you for coming. How's Tim?"

"He's hanging in there." Mrs. McGee stepped closer to him. "Thank you for taking the time to talk to us."

"I used to work with Tim at Norfolk." Ron gestured for them to sit down. "Knowing Tim he'd never have told you this." His voice was rueful. "But I figured it was something you would want to know. It's...it's about the day of the shooting."

Mr. McGee swallowed. "Go on."

"There's a staircase to the fourth floor that runs behind Tim's team's desks. I was on my way down that when I got hit. After I fell, I noticed Tim. He'd already been hit and was lying face down behind his desk. And he was moving." Ron's voice shook. "He was trying to crawl forward."

Sarah clapped a hand to her mouth.

"At first I couldn't understand why, and I wanted to scream at him to lie still so that bastard didn't see him again. Sorry, ma'am," he added, quickly glancing at Sarah and her mother. "Then I saw him reach up towards his gun drawer. He was trying to get his weapon."

Tears streamed down Sarah's cheeks and she was half aware of Abby's arm coming around her shoulder. Across the aisle, her mother's body was shaking, and Agent Petro stepped towards her. Mrs. McGee quickly shook her head. "No," she said, her voice barely audible, but firm. "I need to know."

"That's when the shooter saw him too. He shot Tim again...in the back." Ron closed his eyes for a second and took a deep breath before opening them again.

"Tim was hurt because he was trying to save our lives." Ron looked Tim's parents directly in the eye. "Your son's a hero."

0

_Tim was running, running through the hallways of NCIS as people screamed around him. He had to get out of there._

_He rounded a corner and stopped. A man was there, pointing a gun in his direction. He knew that man—that man was the reason he was hearing the screams. Tim whipped around and started running back the way he had come._

_He heard the crack of the gun behind him and then suddenly it was cracking _inside_ of him, ripping through his body. The pain was worse than anything he'd ever felt, but still he kept running._

_More shots cracked behind him and through him, tearing into his body, and still he kept running, until suddenly the hallway opened up in front of him and he found himself in the squadroom. And stopped, short._

_People were slumped on the floor, covered in blood. And all of them were screaming. Screaming for _him_ to help them. Gibbs, Tony, Ziva, Ducky, Abby, Paula, Chris, Kate. All of them screaming in pain._

_Suddenly the man was in front of him again, smiling and pointing his gun at him. More pain, worse than before, ripped through his chest and he felt himself falling back..._

Tim's eyes jerked open and he found himself in a haze of bright lights and noise and pain. Some sort of alarm seemed to be going off to his right, and people appeared to be yelling. And his back and chest felt like they were on fire.

"Tim? Tim, it's Mom. Dad and I are here." Tim turned a pair of frightened eyes towards the voice. It was his mother and he could see his father standing behind her. He quickly looked at the other side of the bed and saw Sarah, looking scared. And a blonde woman leaning towards him. _Paula!_

"Agent McGee! Tim, relax. I'm Dr. McCool; you're in a hospital."

Dr. McCool... Tim forced himself to take a closer look at the blond woman, then started to relax. She wasn't Paula. Her face was fuller, with rounder cheeks. He wasn't dead, then. But why was there so much pain?

"Tim, Tim, you need to calm down." Dr. McCool raised her voice over the din of the machines. Just relax. You're all right. You're safe."

"It's okay, Timmy." His mother squeezed his shoulder. "You're safe, now."

The childhood nickname and his mother's voice finally broke through and Tim fell back against the pillow, his body trembling. His mother reached out and smoothed back his hair. "There, now. That's it. Just relax. It's good to have you back with us."

Tim tried to smile, but found his mouth was blocked with a tube. His eyes started to widen."

"We've got a tube in there to help you breathe," Dr. McCool said gently. "You were in pretty bad shape when you came in a few days ago. You have a punctured lung and some rib fractures, so we just want to leave that in for a bit till things heal up a little more. Okay?"

Tim tried to nod, but had to settle for blinking. The doctor smiled at him. "You're doing fine. Do you remember what happened?"

Tim's brow furrowed in concentration. A wave of images came flooding through his mind—gunshots, screams, pain. His eyes opened wide and he felt himself begin to shake uncontrollably.

"Tim? Tim!" Dr. McCool was trying to say something, something important, but his body wouldn't quit shaking long enough to hear. Then something poked him in the arm and a tide of waves started washing in, warm and cozy. The last thing he remembered was the touch of his mother's hand on his face."

0

Tony stepped out of the door of the ICU and slowly leaned his head back against the wall, closing his eyes. He'd just come from talking to the McGees. Apparently Tim had had some sort of panic attack when he came to and the doctors had to re-sedate him. The staff had issued a strict rule: Nobody other than Tim's family was allowed in his room. It was a restriction Abby wasn't taking too well.

"Tony? You okay?" He opened his eyes to see Kim McDonough, one of the agents investigating the shooting. He feigned a smile.

"You ever see the movie _The Time Shifters_?" Kim shook her head. "It aired on cable a few years ago. Casper Van Dien plays this guy who finds out about this group from the future who have a passport that takes them back to all of the major disasters in history. Except, they aren't supposed to interact with people from the past. But one of the tourists screws up and as a result, Casper doesn't die in an explosion. And in the process the guy drops his passport. So Casper starts suing it to go back through time to stop all of these disasters. But in the process his girlfriend and son get killed, so he has to use the passport again..." Kim was staring at him blankly and Tony's voice trailed off. "I'd just like to have a passport like that that I could take back to the day of the shooting and stop all of this from happening."

Kim smiled. "Well, if you ever find one, get another for me too, okay?"

Tony grinned. "Deal."

Kim joined him in leaning against the wall. "We finally got to interrogate Martak today."

Tony turned to look at her in surprise. Martak's lawyers had been stonewalling the NCIS agents ever since the shooting. "And?"

"And I could have gone my whole life without hearing what he had to say." Kim sighed. "Short version is the guy hadn't solved a case in over a year. He was massively depressed. And then a conviction from a case he had solved got overturned. Meanwhile, his supervisor is somehow adding 2 and 2 together from these warning signs and getting 22. He gets the brilliant idea to send this nutjob along to NCIS to help with the interrogation on the latest case he was working with Dobbs." She rolled her eyes. "Never mind that NCIS had already agreed that NCIS would handle the interrogation. The guy they were interviewing clammed up after three questions and would only take the fifth. Martak snapped."

Tony winced. "That's it?" Kim nodded wryly. "Why were they had headquarters? I thought Dobbs was in Norfolk."

"He was. They were working with an Intel Analyst from our office."

Tony just shook his head. "Unbelievable."

Kim nodded. "Martak's supervisor has already been suspended, but there's going to be some major fallout by the time this is over." She changed the subject. "Also, Director Shepherd is planning on awarding the Presidential Medal of Freedom to Tim, Christy, Gibbs, and Ducky for their actions during the shooting."

Tony raised his eyebrows. "I hadn't heard about that."

Kim nodded. "Gibbs and Christy are receiving it for the way they took bullets for Amy and Ziva and tried to push them out of the way. And you know about Tim and Ducky."

"I know about Tim." Tony slowly shook his head. "Not about Ducky."

Kim stared at him. "You didn't ear?" Tony shook his head again and Kim sighed. "Ducky's the person responsible for taking down the shooter."

Tony blinked. "Ducky? I don't understand."

"He was up in the Director's office when they heard the shots. When she went out with her weapon, he insisted on using her backup and covering her. That's how he was wounded — he was firing at the shooter."

Tony struggled to hold back the flood of emotion. "I had no idea," he managed.

"That's not all. After he took the shooter down he managed to get back to the Director's office and call for help before losing consciousness. The paramedics found him slumped against her desk, a bloody handprint on the phone." Kim's eyes glistened with tears. "He saved their lives that day."


	9. Chapter 8: Tears

Chapter 8: Tears

The worst thing about hospitals, Ziva decided, wasn't the antiseptic smell, the paper-thin nightgowns, or even the tasteless excuse for food. They were just so incredibly _boring_.

She'd never been a particularly good patient. Her parents had practically had to tie her to the bed when she was twelve and had pneumonia, so that she'd actually lie down and rest. That afternoon she'd already resorted to checking the television — a waste of time since all she could find were bubble operas and something called _Dora the Explorer_. And she'd finished the novel she'd been reading — twice. Ducky had promised to bring her another after the funeral services, but that was at least an hour away.

She glanced over at the other bed, but Gibbs appeared to have dozed off. They'd requested to be put in the same room again after leaving ICU and the request had been granted.

Ziva looked over at the door, then at her wheelchair. If she could get out of bed she could go for a walk, or at least a roll, down the hall to kill sometime. Maybe she'd even visit a couple of the other agents on the floor. It certainly beat just lying there.

Her mind made up, she instinctively started to sit up, only to fall back against the pillows, gasping in pain. Almost used to the dull burning that encased her stomach despite the pain pills, she'd forgotten that sudden movements made it worse. She lay there for a moment, catching her breath, before rolling over onto her side the way the nurse had shown.

Her stitches pulled, angry at the movement, and she gritted her teeth before trying to push her body up off the bed. A fresh wave of pain rippled through her stomach and she fell forward again. Tears came into her eyes and she struggled to force them back.

She attempted the movement twice more, but it was no use. It simply hurt too much. After falling forward the third time, she simply lay still, resting her cheek against the cool sheet and trying to catch her breath. Her stomach was in agony now and she considered reaching for the morphine pump, but then drew back. She had to get back to her back first. Once the medication kicked in she'd be feeling to fuzzy to move, and there was no way she'd let the nurse find her like this.

Using all her strength she pushed against the mattress with her hand to roll herself back onto her back. It was slow going and she frequently had to stop to catch her breath. When she was finally back in her original position she groped for the morphine pump, pressing it for all she was worth. That done, she lay back against the pillows, hot tears streaming down her cheeks. She did her best to stifle the sobs, not wanting to waken Gibbs, but there was no silencing the frustration and self-beratement screaming through her brain. Less than a week before she'd been a federal agent in top physical condition and now she was too helpless to even get out of bed without help. Pathetic!

On the other side of the room, Gibbs lay silently in his hospital bed feigning sleep, his mind drifting back to the shooting days before. He could still see Ziva lying on the floor, her face wreaked with pain, just a foot beyond his reach. Then, like now, he'd yearned to comfort her, but saying anything would only humiliate her further. He balled one fist in frustration and took a deep breath.

Ziva apparently heard him because she looked over. He met her eyes, not saying anything, and he thought he saw her face almost relax. He continued maintaining eye contact until he saw her eyes close and he could hear her breathing start to deepen. A faint smile of relief crossed his face.

0

"Ziva, I'd like to introduce you to your new best friend, the exercise ball."

Ziva gave the device a suspicious glance. "A child's toy?"

The therapist, a likeable man in his late thirties, chuckled. "My daughter wishes it was. Her ball is only half this size." He sobered. "No, in seriousness, this thing is going to help you get back your range of motion in your stomach."

Ziva nodded, not quite convinced. "It's Sam, isn't it?" He nodded. "Do I lift it?"

Sam shook his head. "More like it lifts you. What we do with stomach injuries is place the ball under your torso and get you to roll with it in various stretches. The one I'm going to start you off with works like this."

He lay down on the exercise mat a few feet away from Ziva and hooked his knees over the top of the ball. Slowly he let his knees rock to one side, then the other. "You're going to start off like this, then we'll work with you holding each position up to five seconds." He sat up. "Sound good?"

Ziva smiled at him gratefully. "It sounds great."

Sam raised his eyebrows. "Enthusiasm. That's what I like to see."

"I'm afraid it's more like impatience, to be honest," Ziva told him. "I'm a federal agent and I'm used to doing a lot of running and sports in my spare time. All of this inactivity the last three weeks has been driving me wafers." Sam looked at her blankly. "Crazy, yes?"

He chuckled. "I think you mean 'crackers'," he explained. "Then let's get started. I'll get you to lie back." She did so, ignoring the faint pulling at her stomach as Sam rolled the ball over. "Well just put your legs up on here. Okay. Now just start rocking gently, let yourself get used to the movement."

The exercise was more difficult than Ziva had expected, and she could feel the stiff muscles in her stomach protesting. She took a deep breath.

"Just a couple more," Sam encouraged. Ziva didn't answer, just continued rocking. Beads of sweat appeared on her forehead. "Two more, good. Okay, take a breather for a second and we'll try it again."

Ziva looked up at the ceiling, tried to catch hr breath. A movement caught her eye and she looked over. Gibbs was hobbling on a pair of crutches behind a petite, dark-haired young woman. Ziva turned her face away, hoping he wouldn't notice her, then looked over at Sam. "Okay, again."

They repeated the exercise twice more and Ziva thought she was going to scream by the end of it. The exercise was so simple she could have done it in kindergarten, but every time Sam allowed her a rest she'd built up a sweat. When it came time to start for the fourth time, he stopped her.

"We're going to do something a little different this time," he told her. "When you go to each side, you're going to hold the position for five seconds. And you're going to do that 10 times on each side, okay?" She nodded and rolled her legs to the side. "Good and hold, one, two, three, four, five. Now the other side."

By the time she was done each side twice her face was red and a dull ache was creeping through her stomach. Three more cycles and the ache was past dull and she wondered what made Mossad think their training was so difficult. On the eighth attempt her legs simply slid off the ball.

"Careful." Sam caught her feet and lowered them gently to the floor. Ziva didn't answer, just tried to catch her breath. "Don't worry, that was great for your first time out. You're coming along well. Next session we'll work on doing the full ten reps twice."

Ziva wished she had a paperclip.

0

Across the room, Gibbs was trying to figure out when Abby had gotten her physical therapy degree. Elizabeth was 5'2, Hispanic, and showed no sign of Goth dress or tattoos, but otherwise could have been the lab-tech's twin. In the ten minutes since he'd been there she'd conducted a bubbly interrogation on everything from his hobbies (he'd told her about the boat), favorite TV shows (he didn't really watch anything), books (he read thrillers when he had the time), family (he'd sidestepped that one), his job (which held her attention longer than the other topics put together). All while putting his knee through a series of range-of-motion exercises that left his forehead soaked in sweat and him gritting his teeth when he answered. And they were still only on the warm-up exercises.

"Okay." Elizabeth leaned back with a satisfied nod. "We're done."

Gibbs stared at her. "That's it?"

"I'll still hook you up to a TENS unit for a few minutes," she assured him. "But your exercises are done for the day."

"But you barely did anything." Gibbs couldn't believe it. It was true his knee felt ready to collapse, but he remembered from his previous injury that there were still exercises left to complete.

"Agent Gibbs." Elizabeth looked him directly in the eye. "This is all your knee can handle right now."

0

Gibbs was dropping off some forms at NCIS Headquarters when he heard it. He'd been procrastinating with dropping off the paperwork for his medical leave and figured he'd finally drop it off on his way home. Two agents passed him in the hall, deep in conversation.

"She's coming to clean out her desk tomorrow," one said. The other whistled.

"I just went to see Amy last week. She said she was coming back."

"She was," the first agent relied. But she just got the word from her doctor. There was too much ligament damage in her knee — there's no way she'll ever heal enough to pass the Medical Clearance. It's a shame too. She had a lot of potential.

0

Tim sat in a wheelchair in front of the window in his hospital room, his stomach clenched. Sarah would be arriving in a few minutes to take him to the NCIS Awards Ceremony.

The Director had come to see him the previous night, making sure he was still feeling up to coming. He'd told her he was.

And it was true. The doctor had cleared him for a day pass as long as someone went with him and he remained in a wheelchair. Tim had already been taking short walks down the corridor, but was still too weak to stand for long periods. The only reason he was nauseated now, he told himself, was from eating the melted crayons the hospital called breakfast.

"Ready to go?" Sarah came through the door and stopped short. "Tim, what's wrong?"

He turned to face her, forcing a smile. "Nothing."

"You look pale." Her dark eyes looked concerned. "Maybe I should get the doctor."

"No, I'm fine." He swallowed. "I'm fine."

"Okay." Sarah didn't sound convinced, but she took a hold of his wheelchair anyway.

Tim's mind drifted back to Tony's visit the day before. He said the damage in the squadroom had been repaired, including the walls. "They even found that same hideous shade of orange for the walls," he'd quipped, and they'd both laughed.

The wheelchair rounded a corner and Tim felt his head spin at the movement. The air suddenly felt a lot closer and like it was pushing down on him. H swallowed again and tried to breathe.

"Tim?" The wheelchair had stopped and Sarah was kneeling in front of him. "Tim, what's wrong?"

"This hallway — there's something screwed with the ventilation," he muttered. Sarah quickly stood up.

"I'm taking you back to your room."

"No. Just...just get me through those doors at the end of the hall and I'll be fine." He could make it that far. He knew he could. Just another thirty feet or so. Tim tried to focus on breathing again. Just another twenty feet...

"Tim? Tim!" Sarah jerked the wheelchair around and through the entrance of the closest unit. Tim groaned.

"Sarah, the Awards Ceremony."

"Screw the Awards Ceremony!" she snapped. "Your doctor was full of it." She let go of the wheelchair and rushed towards the nurse's desk. "Please, my brother needs help."

There was a blur of activity and then suddenly a nurse was kneeling next to him. "Okay, Tim, just take it easy and take some deep breaths. Can you do that?"

Tim tried and noticed with some surprise that they were coming a lot easier. The air didn't feel as oppressive anymore either. "It's okay, now," he murmured. He blinked in confusion. "I'm fine."

0

"Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention please?" Director Shepherd's voice voice was slightly shakier than usual, although her face seemed composed. "As you all know, we are gathered here today to recognize the actions of four of our personnel on November 30, 2007: specifically Special Agent Christy Heinz, Special Agent Tim McGee, Special Agent Jethro Gibbs, and Dr. Donald Mallard and to award them with the Presidential Medal of Freedom."

She took a deep breath. "The first recipient, Special Agent Gibbs, is someone who I had the privilege of working alongside with for several assignments. He is a great agent and a loyal friend, who would not hesitate to put his life in danger if it meant saving someone else. To tell you more about that, I ask Officer Ziva David to please come forward.

There was a low murmur as Abby stepped forward to help push Ziva's wheelchair in front of the microphone from where it had been sitting in the front row. She then returned to her place next to Ducky.

"Thank you, Director," Ziva said quietly. "As most of you know, I was assigned to work with Special Agent Gibbs almost three years ago. During that time he has taught me a lot and set an example that I can only hope to one day live up to. As Director Shepherd said, he is a loyal friend who would not hesitate to risk his life for a friend, and I learned that first-hand on November 30."

Her voice caught in her throat for a moment and she ducked her head. "Excuse me." She closed her eyes and took a couple of deep breaths, wincing slightly at the movement, before looking up again. "We had just been downstairs talking with a witness in the lounge and neither of us had our weapons with us. We'd reached the third floor and were coming around the corner by the photocopier when Martak opened fire. He spotted us and started shooting in our direction. And..." Her voice broke. "Gibbs...Gibbs grabbed me around the waist and pushed me to the side, making sure he was between me and the shooter."

Tears began streaming down her cheeks and she tried to smile. "I'm sorry," she whispered, as the Director quickly stepped forward.

"It's okay, Ziva," she said, leaning over and giving the younger woman a gentle hug. "It's okay," she repeated softly. Ziva nodded, and the Director slowly stepped away, taking the microphone again. "Will Special Agent Gibbs please step forward."

There was a moment of silence as everyone looked around. Ziva looked over at Ducky and Abby and did manage a grin this time. So did the Director. "I guess Agent Gibbs couldn't make it," she said. "I'll set it aside and bring it to the hospital. Thank you, Officer David."

Abby stepped forward again to assist Ziva off the platform and Jenny took the microphone. "Our second recipient is the late Special Agent Christina Heinz, better known to most of her coworkers as Christy. Christy was a member of my recruiting class at FLETC, where we became good friends. She was also one of the top members of our training class and showed that she had the potential to become a great agent, a potential that was realized. To tell you more about that, I'd ask for Special Agent Amy Deckerman to come forward.

This time Palmer stepped forward, pushing the wheelchair of a brunette agent in her mid-twenties. One leg was propped up in front of her, the area around her knee heavily bandaged. Palmer carefully guided the chair to the front before tactfully stepping aside as Jenny handed Amy the microphone.

"Thank you, Director," the agent said in a shaky voice. "For those of you who don't know me, I normally work in the Cold Case unit on the West Side, but I often have to visit other offices when I'm pulling up reports. On November 30, I had to come and speak with one of the agents in the Intel Department, Christy Heinz.

"We were talking at her desk when Martak burst in and fired towards us. Christy shoved me out of the way so that the bullet..." Her voice wavered. "So that the bullet hit her instead of me."

Jenny accepted the microphone back. "Accepting the medal in Agent Heinz's place are her parents, Vincent and Kathryn. Will they please come forward?"

A couple in their fifties walked towards her from the back of the room. Jenny handed them the case with the medal, then shook each of their hands.

Vincent Heinz then moved towards Amy, who offered her hand as well. He bypassed it, instead giving her a warm hug. His wife followed. All three had tears streaming down their cheeks.

Jenny offered the man the microphone, which he accepted. Clearing his throat, he managed, "When Christy was six years old, she attended a ceremony very similar to this one for her grandfather. He was a member of the first class of NCIS agents who were decorated for their actions during the Second World War Chris watched the entire presentation just wide-eyed, and at the reception afterwards, she found her way over to the NCIS Director and said, 'Excuse me, how do I become like you when I grow up?' "

Tender chuckles broke out over the room as Vincent continued, "He started telling her how he began as an agent and she said, 'No, no. My grandfather told me about being an agent. I want to know how you get to be the person who gets to give the medals to everyone who did something good.' "

He looked up slightly, his eyes focused on a point a little ways above the heads of the audience. "For a long time, she would reenact that scene with her toys, putting necklaces and ribbons around their necks...because 'they did something good'. Well, today, Christy, you are one of the people being recognized for 'doing something good'. Thank you all."

A vivid chorus of applause broke out as Vincent, Kathryn, and Amy descended the platform, and there were tears in Jenny's eyes as she spoke into the microphone again. "The third recipient, Special Agent Tim McGee, first became a full-time field agent three years ago. In addition to being a great investigator, he is currently one of our best operatives when it comes to computer research.

"Agent McGee was among the first victims hit on November 30. After being shot twice in the chest he remained conscious enough to try and crawl towards the drawer of his desk where he kept his weapon." The Director's voice was grave. "As a result of his brave act, he was shot a third time in the back.

"Unfortunately, Agent McGee was also unable to attend this ceremony. I spoke with his family a couple of hours ago and was told that although his condition is improving, he's not quite well enough to travel this distance from the hospital. His sister Sarah will be accepting the medal in his place. Sarah?"

Sarah, who'd been standing with Palmer, Abby, and Ducky, approached the podium, looking self-conscious. She accepted the case with the medal from the Director, then turned to face the audience.

"Thank you, Director Shepherd. Tim always believed that if he ever received any award it would be for writing. When he received the phone call telling him he'd been awarded the Presidential Medal of Freedom, he was surprised." She smiled. "But I wasn't.

"All his life, Tim has been the kind of guy who would look out for others. In school, he'd be the one coming to the rescue of a kid who was being picked on, or he was coming to my rescue when I got myself in trouble. Even last year, when a friend of mine was murdered, he was there for me." She made eye contact with the front row. "He's always ready to help the people he cares about."

Sarah gestured towards the medal. "Our family has been trying to tell him for years how special he is for doing that. Thank you for telling him too."

A warm wave of applause welcomed her back to her seat as Jenny took the microphone. "We all know our last recipient, Dr. Donald Mallard, very well. Ducky has been the Medical Examiner here since before I came here ― probably since before any of us came here." A murmur of agreement rippled through the room and the older man ducked his head.

"He's been the person we go to for answers about the victims, and, more recently, the perpetrators of the crimes. Some of us also go to him when we just need to talk. No I don't claim to tell stories as well as Ducky, but today I'm going to try.

"The morning of the shooting, Ducky was in my office briefing me on the details of one of the autopsies that had come in that week. We heard the sounds of gunshots and screaming and I grabbed my sidearm to go and investigate. Ducky insisted on taking my backup weapon and covering me.

"We went out onto the balcony and immediately came under fire. Both of us were hit. However Ducky was still able to take the shooter down with a headshot, thus preventing further casualties." Jenny looked directly at the older man. "We owe him our lives."

Applause immediately erupted from the assembled personnel and the M.E. colored slightly. Jenny smiled. "Dr. Mallard, please come forward."

The applause continued steadily as Ducky made his way up to the platform, received a heartfelt "Thank you," from Jenny, and accepted the medal; only subsiding when he took the microphone. For a moment, Ducky stood still, too overcome with emotion to say anything. Finally he spoke.

"This will probably be the only time you hear me say this," he began shakily. "But I'm actually at a loss for words." A few people chuckled warmly and Ducky smiled, before letting his gaze slowly travel around the room, taking in each of the faces one by one. "The greatest reward for me today is being able to look at all of you and to still see you here."

A face at the back of the room caught Ducky's gaze, one who'd only entered a moment before. For a moment their eyes locked.

"To see _all my friends_ that are here," Ducky added softly, his eyes still on the figure in the back. The other man gave him an understanding smile before slipping back out of the room. "Thank you all."


	10. Chapter 9: Tests

**A/N: Thanks guys, for your reviews. They mean a lot. In answer to a couple of comments, Yes, Heather, that was Gibbs - it was meant as a reference to when he talked to Gibbs about the grad ceremony in season 4. Vamp, it's not outright said, but I think you'll understand with these coming chapters why you didn't see Tony at the ceremony.**

Chapter 9: Tests

Tony sighed and took another sip from the mug of coffee in front of him, then made a face. It was cold. He pushed it aside. It was almost 1:30 A.M., and the rest of the Cold Case Team had left hours earlier. His supervisor had told him to go as well, but he'd declined, saying he still had some things to finish up. The other agent had looked suspicious, probably because Tony had told him that every night in the past few weeks, and reminded him that this wasn't the Major Case Response Team, where overtime was practically a requirement. Tony snorted at the memory. Like he needed to be reminded he wasn't in the MCRT anymore.

Jenny had offered Tony the chance to head up the temporary team working in their old desks, but Tony had declined. He'd done the temporary team leader thing once already and that was enough. He'd wait for McGee, Gibbs, and Ziva to heal and then they'd come back together. They'd left as a team and they could return as a team — at least, that's what he'd told her.

The truth was, Tony couldn't stand being in their old squadroom. He'd gone in once when the initial repairs were complete, but seeing all the new faces was too much. He didn't know how those who had returned had done it. Of course, it was different for them. Much different.

Tony sighed and picked up another file.

0

Tim stared unseeingly at his typewriter, his mind racing. _This was not happening_.

He'd taken advantage of Sarah going to class that day to try and do some more writing on his next L.J. Tibbs book. While he appreciated his sister staying with him while he recuperated, he found it harder to write with someone else around. This morning had seemed like the perfect opportunity — until he'd sat down and promptly frozen up.

He'd had the scene he planned to write that day in his head before the shooting, perfecting every image before he set it to paper, so it wasn't true writer's block. He just couldn't make himself actually write the stupid thing.

"I'm going insane," he muttered, his hand clenching in frustration. He hadn't forgotten the weird incident at the hospital the day of the Awards Ceremony, where he'd gotten dizzy for no good reason. He still had no idea what happened that day, or why the sensation had abruptly fled minutes later. He'd gone back to the hallway with Sarah and neither of them had had any problems. One of the doctors had suggested he'd had a panic attack. Tim just shook his head. Panicking for no reason in a hospital hallway? He was definitely losing his mind.

Tim groaned. Reminding himself of his lack of sanity wasn't helping him write any better. Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to replay the scene he had planned. Lisa was interrogating an uncooperative witness, and there was a hostage's life at stake. Tim smiled. He always did enjoy writing about Lisa conducting interrogations. He closed his eyes, trying to mentally recapture his initial vision.

A feeling of nausea overwhelmed him and he jerked his eyes open. Instinctively he grabbed the front of his desk for support and tried to take some deep breaths.

Realization hit. He couldn't do the job and he couldn't write about it, even a tame scene like this that he loved. One more thing that bastard had taken from him.

Just then he spotted the medal sitting on his desk. He rolled his eyes, then grabbed it and threw it with all his strength into the garbage can next to his desk. That done, he buried his head in his arms and sobbed.

0

"Okay, Gibbs, we're going to try and put some weight on that knee today," Elizabeth announced. Gibbs shot her a suspicious look."

"We?" he replied. The therapist nodded, flashing him one of her big, ever-present smiles.

"You're going to be standing between the P-Bars, using them for support. I'll be right behind you, ready to grab you if anything goes wrong."

Gibbs gave her another Look. "_You'll_ grab me?" he repeated, his gaze pointedly traveling up and down her petite frame.

She rolled her eyes. "You, too?" Listen, one of these times I'm going to put one of you wise-guy, 6-feet, burly Marines on those things _before_ you're ready, and then we'll see who's making the height jokes."

Gibbs ducked his head, struggling to hide his smile, as she began putting his knee through the usual paces of range-of-motion exercises. He had never cared for the overly positive attitude in physical therapists, always feeling like it was forced for the patient's benefit, but he'd grown to really enjoy Elizabeth. There was a warmth and sincerity to her spunk that showed that, like Abby, she really was that upbeat. At the same time she had a no-nonsense side and she would clearly not put up with crap. He'd have loved to serve with someone like her in the Corps.

"Okay. We're done." Elizabeth sat back, reaching over to help Gibbs sit up. He tried to hide his wince. Even Elizabeth's spunk couldn't keep him from knowing the range-of-motion exercises were still over too quickly.

Gibbs hobbled over to the P-Bars on his crutches and maneuvered so that he was standing a little ways in before gripping the bars and letting Elizabeth hand the crutches to an assistant. That done, she moved to stand behind him, her hands inches away from his waist.

"All right, Gibbs. I want you to hop on your uninjured leg so that you're just past the support legs of the bars." He did so, Elizabeth remaining a couple of inches behind him. "Good." She placed her hands on either side of his waist. "Now when you're ready, I want you to transfer some weight down on the right knee. Don't try walking and don't push yourself past when you start feeling more than just discomfort. We don't' want to push it, we just want to get that knee used to taking some weight again."

Gibbs took a deep breath and then shifted some of his weight to his right leg. Immediately twinges of pain shot through his knee. He ignored it and transferred a bit more. The pain intensified and he swallowed, gripping the rails tight.

"How does that feel?" Elizabeth asked quietly.

"Fine," he muttered.

"Okay. I'm gong to take my hands away, just a little ways." She let go, making sure her hands were still close enough to quickly grab him again. "How's that?"

"I'm going to try and take a step."

"Gibbs, no."

"Just one." He didn't wait for her to reply, just quickly picked up his left leg.

The pain that stabbed through his right knee in response was so intense he almost cried out. Squeezing his eyes shut he quickly set his good leg down, relieving some of the pressure. The pain lessened a fraction.

"Okay, that's good enough for your first day." Elizabeth's voice came from behind him. "Transfer all your weight back to your left leg and bring the other back off the ground."

He did so, but rather than keeping it up he set it down again a short distance ahead. Fresh pain circled his knee like a brace.

But he was doing it. He was walking. His heart leapt a fraction and he brought his left leg forward again. This time the pain spiraling through his knee was even worse and he quickly set the other foot down. Even with the shared weight the pain was almost unbearable and it was all he could do to hold back a moan.

But he was walking. He forced himself to take one more step forward; just one more and he'd stop.

The right knee was a little easier to move forward this time, but the test would come when he had to transfer all his weight in order to step forward with his good leg. He gritted his teeth and pulled his foot up.

A second later there was a rip, followed by a sensation of blinding hot pain, and he found himself in a fetal position on the floor, writhing in agony.

"Gibbs!" Elizabeth was at his side in an instant saying something, but he was in too much pain to tell what. He clutched his knee with both hands has his vision blurred. He didn't think he'd ever hurt this much in his entire life.

"Just hold on, Gibbs." Elizabeth leaned over, one hand on his forehead. "Hold on, you're going to be all right." She looked over her shoulder. "I need a split and a gurney, NOW!"

Gibbs just shook his head. He'd really done it this time.


	11. Chapter 10: Trust

Chapter 10: Trust

"Tony?"

"Director." He took a deep breath. "I'm sorry, you just surprised me."

Jenny nodded, her expression serious. "Can I talk to you in my office for a minute?"

Tony quickly glanced at the clock. It was 1:00 in the morning. "I was actually just getting ready to head home."

"Quitting early tonight?" She raised her eyebrows and he winced. "This will only take a minute."

When they reached the office, Jenny gestured for him to sit down on the sofas at the far end of the room. She grabbed a folder from the desk, then took a seat on one of the chairs.

"These are photos from a surveillance mission. I'd like you to have a look at them."

Tony looked at her in surprise, but accepted the file and slowly started leafing through it. Inside were several photos of himself at his desk, taken from the security cameras, and he groaned. "Director..."

"Read the time and date stamps," Jenny ordered. Tony did so and saw there was a month's worth, all showing him entering at 4:00AM and leaving at 2:00 the following morning. He sighed.

"I asked Abby to pull them." Jenny's voice was neutral. "I don't remember hearing about any cold cases with enough of a lead to justify this type of hours."

"I'd been having trouble sleeping — I figured I'd get something out of the time." Tony tried to sound dismissive, but Jenny simply looked at him.

"When was the last time you tried?" he avoided her gaze and she nodded. "That's what I thought."

She stood up and walked towards the closet in the corner of her office, opening the door. A moment later she returned, carrying a blanket and pillow. "Here."

Tony stared at her. "You don't mean..."

"You are getting some sleep tonight, Agent DiNozzo, and I don't trust you to actually do that if I send you home. We'll talk more about this tomorrow." She smiled briefly. "Don't worry, that couch is more comfortable than it looks."

Tony opened his mouth as if to say something, but then simply nodded. "Yes, ma'am."

Jenny nodded in satisfaction before walking towards her desk. "After this, I expect you to come in no earlier than 7:30 in the morning and to leave no later than 7:30 in the evening." She turned back to face him and her voice softened. "I know it's difficult right now, Tony, but this isn't the answer."

0

Sarah took a last sip from her glass of milk before setting it down in the sink. "Tim, my 2:30 class was cancelled, so I'll see you around 3:00!"

"Sounds good," he called back from the bedroom.

Sarah headed towards the door, then stopped. "Tim, did you finish proofreading my Tolkien report?"

"Yeah, it's over on my writing desk."

She stalked over. "I thought I asked you to put it back in my backpack last night."

Tim's face appeared at the bedroom door. "Yeah, well, next time write a report instead of a novel and I might actually finish it in the evening instead of the next morning!"

Sarah rolled her eyes before grabbing the paper and turning back towards the door. Her knee brushed something, knocking it to the floor, and she stopped. "What the heck?" It was a paper from Tim's wastepaper basket, which was practically overflowing. She'd knocked it to the floor. She groaned.

"Tim, when was the last time you emptied your garbage can?" She grabbed it and headed towards the kitchen, where she pulled out a recycling bag. "And you accuse me of being a slob."

She turned the can over and started dumping the contents into the bag. A metallic thud stopped her. "Now what?"

Setting the can down, she fished her hand around before her grip closed around something hard and smooth. Carefully she drew it out. It was a black rectangular box, the same one she'd brought home for him from the NCIS Medal Ceremony. She flipped it open long enough to confirm her suspicions and then stalked angrily towards the bedroom door.

"What is this?"

Her brother turned to face her. "What's what?"

Sarah waved the case. "It's your NCIS Medal. What was it doing in the garbage?"

Tim stared at her for a long minute, not saying a word. Then his jaw clenched and a hard flash came into his eyes. "Forget it."

Sarah looked at him in disbelief. "What do you mean, forget it?"

"I don't want to talk about this again." His voice was dismissive, but there was an edge to it Sarah had never heard before. "Throw it out again on your way out." She didn't move. "I said, through it out!"

His voice was so loud it made her flinch. Caught off guard, she yelled back, "What is wrong with you?"

"Get out, now!" Tim thundered. "Just throw the friggin' thing away and get out!"

"What's happened to you, Tim?" Sarah screamed back. "What's going on?"

"What's happened to me?" Tim crossed the room in one powerful stride so that he was standing in front of her. "What's happened to me?"

He gripped her shoulders, forcing her to look him in the eye. "I was shot, Sarah. I had three bullets rip through my body because a man wanted to kill me and my job decided to give me a medal for it. That's what happened..." He broke off with a groan as a spasm of pain ricocheted through his back.

"Tim?" His hands fell from her shoulders and his knees buckled. She quickly reached out to support his upper body.

"Easy." She guided him to a kneeling position on the floor, letting his head rest on her shoulder. "Take a deep breath." Slowly the spasm passed and she felt him relax in her arms.

"I froze," Tim whispered, tears trickling down his cheeks. "I tried to write and I froze."

"Tim, it's going to take time." He shook his head.

"I could hear them scream," he whispered. "Lying there on the ground, I could hear all of it. The screams of fear, the cries of pain."

He shuddered. "I could even hear the difference the exact second they were shot...the agony that would come into their voices."

He burrowed his head into Sarah's shoulder and she hugged him tightly. "Just let it out," she said softly. "Just let it out."

He drew back and looked his sister in the eye. "Sarah, I don't think I can go back to NCIS."


	12. Chapter 11: Team

**Sorry for the Long period between updates. I've had the flu, Christmas stuff, and then my Internet went down. It's still not totally up and I'm having to do this at the library, so I probably won't be able to update till closer to New Year's. Sorry about that. But enjoy this part and have a very Merry Christmas!**

Chapter 11: Team

Ziva cautiously let herself in the front door of Gibbs' home and looked warily around. "Gibbs?" There was no answer and she looked over at the basement door. She doubted he could have gotten down the stairs with his injury, but knowing him he was stubborn enough to try. Rolling her eyes, she walked across the room and reached for the knob, then pulled it open.

Sure enough, he was seated with his bad knee propped up on a sawhorse, sanding the side of the cabin-piece for all he was worth. The frenetic motion had stirred up a cloud of sawdust, causing him to stop and cough. When he was finished she leaned over the rail. "Are you all right?"

He looked up with a start, then groaned. "What are you doing here?"

She shrugged. "I wanted to see how you were doing," she answered honestly. He rolled his eyes.

"Well, now you've seen."

"That's not quite what I meant." She carefully eased her way down the stairs and then walked over to him. "I heard about what happened," she offered hesitantly.

Gibbs gave a bitter chuckle. "I'm sure you're not the only one."

Ziva tilted her head slightly. "If you're waiting for me to give you some sort of comforting platypus, you are going to be waiting a while."

He chuckled sincerely this time, and gave her a sideling glance. "Comforting _platypus_?" he repeated.

"You know. Those stupid things people tell each other when something bad happens because they want to comfort them, but what they are really thinking is that the person is the filling in a crap sandwich. And what they do say never comforts them anyway. 'Things happen for a reason.' 'There's always tomorrow.'" Ziva rolled her eyes. "Platypuses."

"Platitudes, Ziva," Gibbs corrected gently. "And so what you're telling me is that right now I'm the filling in a crap sandwich?"

Ziva blushed. "I didn't mean you personally..." she began, but he just shook his head.

"Don't worry about it."

"Look," she began. "It's a setback, but..."

"I thought you weren't going to give me any platitudes."

"Well, what am I supposed to say?" she cried in exasperation.

"How should I know? You're the one who came to me, remember?" he fired back. "_Why are you here_?"

"I don't know!" Ziva sighed. "I just thought that maybe...maybe I could do something."

"Such as?"

"Such as..." She bit her lip. "Such as what you did for me the day of the shooting. You were...you were there for me." She looked down at her feet. "And I never thanked you. I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize," he replied automatically. "It's..."

"Stop!" Ziva's yell caught them both off guard. "I don't want to hear about weakness. I'm not weak, okay? I am not weak!"

There was a moment of stunned silence and Ziva's mouth fell open, unable to believe what she had just done.

"Talk to me," Gibbs said quietly. Ziva looked at him in disbelief. "Talk to me," he said, his voice slightly louder.

Ziva slowly sat down on a second sawhorse, struggling to form the words. Finally, she said, "I made a mistake my first week of training with Mossad. I did not understand something, and so I asked a teammate for clarification. My father was supervising the class."

She took a deep breath. "When it was over, he lectured me for over an hour. He said that I could not allow myself to rely on anyone if I wanted to work as a Federal Agent, because there was nobody you could really count on. That only weak people relied on others to help them. At first I did not believe him." Her eyes drifted to a section of concrete to her right. "Then I heard Ari talking to you in your basement."

She looked back at Gibbs. "When I came to the US, I promised myself I would never rely on anyone again. I wouldn't show weakness. I wouldn't ask for help." Her voice shook. "I broke that one, didn't I?"

Gibbs bit his lip. "That phone call in Mexico last year." She nodded.

"Hardest thing I ever did. Until now." She blinked back tears. "Now all I'm ever doing is asking people for help."

"Oh, Ziva." Gibbs reached out his arms. "Come here." She came forward and he pulled her into a gentle hug, holding her for several seconds before drawing back.

"Remember what I told you about the rules when you first got here?" he asked softly.

She nodded, tears streaming down her cheeks. "You said there were fifty."

He nodded. "Rule 51: Never be afraid to ask for help." He hugged her again. "Never be afraid to ask for help."

He held her for several seconds before she finally pulled away, furiously brushing the tears back. Her eyes fell upon his injured knee. There was a new brace on, thicker than what he'd worn to physical therapy, along with several layers of white bandages. It looked almost as bad as when he'd first been shot.

Gibbs followed her gaze. "I really did it to myself this time, didn't I?" he tried to joke.

"You don't know that," she said quickly.

He gave her a rueful smile. "You're giving me a platypus."

She nodded. "All right, then. Rule 51."

Their eyes locked and he took a deep breath. "Ziva, I may not be coming back."

"Is that what the doctor told you?" she asked.

"Not in as many words." He sighed. "But the one after Kuwait did."

Ziva's eyes widened slightly. "And he was wrong."

Gibbs shook his head. "Ziva, I half-killed myself to get myself back into condition for the medical clearance the first time. And that was when I was fifteen years younger, didn't' have a setback like this, and was in a better position when I started."

"And when you didn't have the news about Amy not being able to return," Ziva added quietly. Gibbs stared at her for a second, then slowly nodded.

"I'm scared, Ziva." He swallowed hard. "I'm really scared."

Ziva walked over to him and leaned over, holding him in a tight hug. "Me too," she whispered honestly. "Me, too."

0

"I thought the Director gave you a curfew."

Tony looked up to see Abby leaning on the door jam. He smiled wryly. "Rule 18."

"Easier to ask forgiveness than permission." She grinned before walking over to sit on his desk. "Another MOAS?"

He shot her a look. "In the Cold Cases?"

Abby smiled gently and shook her head. "I meant with why you've been working all these hours." She cocked her head. "You going to tell me now, or do I have to get you drunk, first?"

Tony rolled his eyes. "Nice try, but you already told me what happens when you start talking about your MOAS, so I think I'll pass."

"Yeah, but I never told you about what happens when you _don't_ talk about it."

Tony snorted. "Great."

"I'll tell you what." She looked him in the eye. "I'll go first. And if you don't think it's as bad as yours, I won't bring it up again."

Tony sat back and folded his arms over his chest. "Deal."

"Three years ago, I should have been killed instead of Kate."

There was such matter-of-factness in her voice that Tony dropped his arms to his sides.

"It's true. Ari developed a fixation on Kate when he took her prisoner in Autopsy. That's why he killed her. But I was the one who was supposed to take the evidence down that day."

She looked down at her feet. "I had a nightmare about a month before Ari took everyone hostage where I'd been cut open on the Autopsy table. Freaked me out so bad I wouldn't go downstairs."

Tony stood up and moved so that he was leaning against the desk next to her. "I never knew that," he said quietly.

Abby chuckled mirthlessly. "I felt so stupid about it I didn't tell anyone, other than Gibbs and Ducky because I had to. I was just going to get Gibbs to take it down, but he was meeting with the Director, so I had to tell Kate." Her voice shook slightly. "After she died, I had that nightmare for almost a month."

Tony stared straight ahead. "I wanted to sleep in," he said finally. "We'd worked four all-nighters in a row the days before the shooting and I figured I'd earned it. All we were going to be doing the next day was paperwork — what was a couple extra hours of sleep, right?"

His voice was barely audible. "That day in the hospital waiting room I prayed for the first time in years. Told God I'd work as hard as I could to never be late or try and skip out early again if He'd just let Ziva, Gibbs, and McGee live." His voice broke. "I'd even work all the overtime without saying anything if they'd just live. If I could just have one more chance."

Abby didn't say anything for several minutes. Finally she replied, "A couple months after Kate died, my mom and I got into a fight. We both said some stuff and then I finally blurted out that she was lucky to still have me, because I shouldn't even be alive anymore. I had to tell her the whole story, and when I was done she asked me I remembered a paper on death I'd done in Religion class in grade school."

She sighed. "I'd said that it didn't matter what happened — the day and time we'd die was already planned. And when it was your time it didn't matter what you did — you could be home and a roof would fall in. But you'd never go before that. And that was why things happened like Gibbs living through the ship explosion, and everyone here — it wasn't their time."

Tony snorted. "But like you said, Abby, it wasn't their time. And obviously, it wasn't my time, because I'm still here." His voice was wry and sarcastic and he stared at a point on the wall. "That doesn't mean I still shouldn't have been there."

Abby stared at him for a long moment, then stood up. "There's something you need to see in my lab." Without waiting for an answer, she turned and left the room. Tony hesitated, then followed her.

When they arrived downstairs, Abby went straight over to her computer. "I had to do a virtual re-creation of the shooting for the investigators, based on the security tapes," she explained, clicking on a screen. Tony started to back away.

"I don't think I want to watch this, Abby," he began, but she quickly grabbed his arm.

"Tony, trust me, this is something you need to know."

He drew a ragged breath. "Okay."

"Other than the first few people hit, most of Martak's victims that were hit at their desks were standing, probably reacting to the initial gunfire. This is what happened when Martak shot Robyn Johnson at the photocopier." Tony watched silently as the shooter fired from next to the row of Intelligence desks, wincing as the figure representing Robyn crumpled to the floor. A pair of red trajectory lines tracing the bullet's path appeared onscreen and Tony swallowed."

"All right. What's your point?"

"Watch what happens when I put you into it." She typed a few keys and another figure appeared, seated at Tony's desk. "Now you would have been seated during the initial shots."

Onscreen the figure of Tony jumped at the sound, then quickly stood as the shooter whipped around and fired towards the agent at the photocopier — and Tony's head. Tony felt his legs buckle and he groped for the chair behind him. Abby froze the image with the trajectory lines, showing the bullet passing through the center of Tony's skull. Then she turned to face him.

"If you'd been here the day of the shooting, you'd be dead."

Tony's body shook convulsively with sobs and he couldn't answer. He didn't think he could even breathe. His eyes remained riveted on the screen in front of him as his torso toppled forward.

"I've got you." Abby grabbed him under the arms and lowered him into a kneeling position, hugging him tightly against herself. "You were where you were supposed to be, Tony," she whispered, gently stroking his hair. "You were where you were supposed to be."


	13. Chapter 12: Triumphs

Chapter 12: Triumphs

"Can I help you?"

Sarah tried to sound professional and like she knew what she was talking about. "I need to see Special Agent Gibbs."

The guard smiled at her. "I'm afraid Agent Gibbs is on a Leave of Absence right now. Is there someone else I can get for you?"

"What about Special Agent DiNozzo?"

"He's actually out of the office at the moment."

"Can I go up to his office and wait for him? It's really important." She took a deep breath. "I'm Sarah McGee – Special Agent Tim McGee's sister."

"Ah." The guard's face instantly took on the concerned look Sarah had been getting from everyone else since the shooting — the one she was beginning to hate. "How's he doing?"

"He's...he's healing," Sarah answered, not sure what else to say.

"Sarah McGee?" Sarah turned to see the Director coming towards her. "It's okay, Henry," she added quickly, before nodding to the metal detector. "This way."

The Director waited until they were both seated on two of the soft chairs at the end of her office before asking, "What's the matter?"

Sarah took a deep breath. "I really don't know how to say this," she began. The Director smiled encouragingly.

"Just go ahead."

Sarah took another deep breath. "Tim wants to quit NCIS." She told the Director the whole story of their argument, not leaving anything out.

"I know Agent Gibbs had been shot before, and I thought maybe if he could talk to Tim, he could show him how to get through it," Sarah explained. "But the guard told me he was on leave right now."

"That's true," the Director replied.

"Then do you know of another agent he could talk to?" Sarah pleaded. "Someone else who's come back from being shot? Tim loves NCIS, Director. Being an NCIS agent is all he's ever wanted to do since he was ten years old. He can't just..." She broke off as a tear trickled down her cheek. "Director, I know Tim's hurting. But he doesn't realize how much more he'll hurt if he goes through with this."

Jenny leaned forward and clasped Sarah's hands with both of hers. "Don't worry, Sarah. I know someone who can talk to him."

0

"Well done, Ziva," Sam said with a smile as she gratefully lowered her body to the floor. "Good job on that last set."

She managed to smile back as she tried to catch her breath. "Thank you." Her eyes traveled across the floor to where Gibbs was beginning his range-of-motion exercises. "Will we be done here before he starts the P-bars?"

"That depends," Sam replied. "I still want to see you do one more set of that last exercise."

She groaned, but obediently positioned her body back into a squat, her back settled comfortably on the top of the ball. "Ready when you are."

"Okay." He held his hands ready to provide assistance if she needed it as she rocked back, her body forming an arch across the ball. "Good, and hold for 15 seconds. One, two, three..." He finished the count. "Now roll back. Good, that's one. Again." She rolled back into the arch a second time, her stomach muscles pulling uncomfortably. Instinctively, her eyes drifted over to Gibbs, trying to make eye contact. He nodded encouragingly.

"And, fifteen." Sam finished counting. "Roll back. And two. One more time."

Ziva took a deep breath and rolled again into the arch, trying not to think about it. The last fifteen seconds were always the worst.

"Six, seven, eight, hang in there, ten..." Ziva gritted her teeth, not sure if she was going to make it. "Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen! Okay, roll back. Well done." Sam held the ball steady as she got to her feet and sighed with relief. "Keep doing the exercises I showed you at home and I'll see you next week."

0

Gibbs was still lying on the treatment table as Ziva approached, finishing the range of motion exercises. In the weeks since his set back, he'd built up to where he'd left off before and even surpassed the volume a little ways. Three sessions earlier he'd finally been cleared to try the P-bars again and he'd gotten as far as the halfway point. Today he'd be going the full distance across.

Elizabeth nodded in satisfaction as Gibbs finished the last exercise and motioned for him to get to his feet. He did and then looked over at Ziva. "Good job over there."

"Thanks." She smiled at him. "Now it's your turn."

He nodded and moved towards one end of the P-bars, Elizabeth following. Once he was again securely between the bars, the therapist handed the crutches to Ziva, then turned back to Gibbs. "Okay," she said. "Let's go."

Gibbs nodded and took a deep breath, then carefully stepped forward with his injured leg. Then, tightening his grip on the bars he moved his left leg forward, transferring his weight to his injured right knee. Tiny darts of pain shot through his kneecap and he swallowed, but continued bringing his leg a step forward and setting it down. The pain lessened a fraction at the additional support and he exhaled. One step down.

He repeated the movements a second time, then a third. His knee ached every time he had to put all his weight on it, but the pain level remained constant this time instead of fluctuating. Slowly he pushed his muscles through a fourth repetition, then looked up. He'd reached the center.

He rested his weight on the rails for a moment, trying to catch his breath. Ahead of him he could see Ziva, her face encouraging but her eyes tense.

"Okay, Gibbs." Elizabeth kept her voice level. "You're almost there. Let's see another step."

Gibbs nodded, his face red from the exertion, before moving his injured knee forward. Then the other leg, bracing himself for the pain again. The darts felt like they were a little sharper this time and he knew he'd be needing an ice pack later, but it was bearable, the level he expected. He brought his right leg down again.

"That's it, that's it." Elizabeth stepped closer to him, ready to step in if the leg gave out. Gibbs didn't answer, just focused his thoughts on the mechanics of the movements themselves. He was so close now; if he could just shut his mind off for the next few minutes, he'd make it.

_Right leg forward, down. Left leg forward, pain, and down. Breathe. Right leg forward, down. Left leg forward, pain, and down. Breathe. Right leg forward._ By this time his forehead was soaked in sweat.

He looked up and his mind flashed back to the shooting in the squadroom again. He and Ziva had been lying just a short distance apart from each other, neither having enough strength to speak.

_Left leg forward, pain, and down. Breathe_.

The whole time, they'd simply tried to maintain eye contact, helping to keep each other conscious. Now here they were again.

_Right leg forward and down_.

Gibbs locked eyes with Ziva and then brought his left leg up. The pain in his right knee immediately intensified and he swallowed. In front of him, Ziva was nodding, an encouraging smile on her face. Gibbs brought his knee down, then lifted his right knee forward. And realized there was nowhere left to bring his left.

He'd done it.

"Well done, Gibbs!" Elizabeth was grinning at him as she brought a steadying arm around his waist. Ziva had her arm ready in front of him too, and he gratefully accepted, collapsing against her as she pulled him into a hug. A tear trickled down his cheek.

He'd done it.

0

Tim quickly skimmed the contents of the computer pop-up before clicking on the "okay" button. He'd offered to check out Sarah's laptop while she was at class since it had been acting somewhat sluggish. After only a half hour, he'd figured out that the issue was because she hadn't defragged the hard drive in the two years since she'd bought the machine.

There was a knock on the front door and he gingerly stood, then walked over. "Just a minute!" he called.

"It's just me, Tim!" The Director's voice made him stop short for a minute. Quickly he pulled the door open.

"Director! Uh, come in."

"Thanks." She entered, smiling. "I wanted to come by and see how you were doing."

"Uh, a little better," he answered. "The doctor thinks the pain should be gone within another few weeks, but said it could be a while before my strength level gets back to normal."

Jenny nodded. "That's good to hear. I probably shouldn't keep you on your feet, then."

Tim gasped. "Oh, I'm sorry. Here, heave a seat." He gestured to the chair at the computer desk and she chuckled.

"It's okay, Tim." She waited until they were both seated before saying, "You sister came to see me. She told me you were thinking of leaving NCIS."

Tim blinked. "Oh, boy," he muttered.

"It's all right, Tim," Jenny said softly. "I understand."

He blinked again. "You do?"

She sounded surprised. "Of course. Plenty of agents don't' stay the entire twenty years. People change. They realize that it's no longer where their heart is, or maybe that it didn't suit them in the first place. There's nothing wrong with that."

"It's not that I don't' like what I do at NCIS," Tim said quickly. "I do...I mean...I did. It's just..."

"You don't have to explain, Tim. I'm proud of you." Jenny leaned forward. "So many people keep doing a job they hate just because they feel like it's what they should be doing. You deserve better than that."

Tim managed a smile. "I never really thought about that," he said slowly.

Jenny reached into her briefcase. "Here. These are for you." She handed him some papers.

"What is this?" he asked.

"Your retirement papers. If you want to go ahead and fill them out right now I can take them back with me," Jenny offered. "Save you a trip."

"Um...but...there's a lot here," Tim stammered. "I wouldn't want to keep you."

She shook her head dismissively. "It's okay. I'm done for the day. Besides, then I can help you out if you have any questions. Here."

Tim slowly took it and stared down at the paper for several long seconds. Slowly he lowered the pen to write, then quickly pulled it up again. He took a deep breath and reread the title at the top of the page. _Resignation Form C-11. _Tim set his teeth and brought the pen down again. A second later he pulled it back up and turned apologetically to the Director. "I'm sorry," he began, then broke off. To his amazement, she was grinning.

"You don't want to quit," Jenny said. Tim simply stared at her.

"How did you?" He closed his eyes as realization hit.

"I was shot in the thigh my first year on the job," she explained softly. "While Gibbs and I were working on an Op in the Czech Republic. Scared me half to death."

Tim smiled, overcome with relief. "What happened?"

"We were supposed to be rescuing another agent who'd been taken hostage. It turned out our contact was working with them. He told them everything about the rescue mission and so they waiting for us with an ambush. Somehow Gibbs got em out of there. By the time the helo arrived to Medivac me out I was a wreck." Jenny smiled ruefully. "The whole trip home I lay there on a stretcher, promising myself that if I made it out alive I'd go to law school the way my mother wanted me to in the first place."

"What made you change your mind?" Gibbs asked softly. Jenny chuckled. "Gibbs. He did the same thing to me as I just did to you. And then he asked me to tell him why I'd first wanted to become an agent. And I realized I couldn't quit, because I still loved what I did too much."

"I've wanted to become an NCIS agent since I was a kid," Tim said quietly. "I had to do a report on WWII for English class and I first read about it then. I don't want to let it go."

His eyes focused on some spot in the air, his expression distant. "But when I think of going back...and trying to do the job knowing I could get shot again or...worse..." His voice broke. "I don't know if I can do it."

Jenny reached over and pulled him into a hug. "Then we'll support you, Tim. In whatever you decide."


	14. Chapter 13: Time

**A/N: This is it, everyone. Thanks for coming along for the ride.**

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Chapter 13: Time

Gibbs walked briskly through the doorway of the Director's reception area, offering a quick smile to the new assistant. "Hey, Amy."

"Morning, Gibbs." She smiled back. "The Director should just be a moment."

Jenny Shepherd's voice came through the speaker on the phone a second later and Gibbs winked. "You're good."

He was back out of the office in less than ten minutes, heading across the fourth floor concourse and down the stairs, pausing halfway down.

The squadroom was crowded, with agents both sitting and milling around and desks in a variety of stages of disarray. He was sure there had to be at least twenty faces or more but at the moment he was only interested in five.

Ron Frederickson. The young agent was sitting at his desk in the intelligence row, his head bent low and his shoulders tense, talking to someone on the phone. Robyn Johnson, on her way back to her desk from the photocopier. She caught his gaze and gave him a smile, which he returned.

Jack Balboa. His desk was also empty, but it wouldn't be for long. He was coming down the hallway from the personnel elevator with another agent, their laughter ringing across the room. Ziva David, sitting in her chair opposite Tony, both appearing to be hard at work on their computers, although he was willing to bet they were actually trading teasing remarks or at least e-mails.

And Tim McGee. Like Robin and Jack, his desk was empty, but there was no sign of him anywhere. There hadn't been since he'd left it six months earlier, semi-conscious and covered up to his shoulders with a white blanket on a gurney.

Gibbs swallowed, his smile gone, then cleared his throat and spoke. "Naval Corpsman found dead out on the docks."

He knew his voice carried the distance it needed to because both Tony and Ziva looked up. They didn't move though, simply stared at him. Gibbs swallowed hard, then raised his voice louder. "Naval Corpsman found dead out on the docks!"

Slowly the two agents got to their feet and began pulling their gear together, their motions hesitant like first- or second-graders gathering their books at the end of the day. Gibbs took another step down the stairwell and another, his foot touching the landing, where he promptly froze.

The elevator doors were opening and a man was stepping out. Running out, his sandy hair tousled and his eyes wide. He caught sight of Gibbs on the stairs and immediately halted. "Boss...I couldn't help it...there was construction..."

Tony's face broke into the slow smile he hardly ever showed, while Ziva just grinned, her dark eyes sparkling as she looked up at Gibbs. For a second the sun caught a tear glistening just below the agent's blue irises before he turned to finish descending the stairs, the light and relief concealed by his usual command.

"Grab your gear."

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THE END


End file.
